On Death and Magic's Due
by I am Sword All-Contort
Summary: After a less than tranquil lecture on caution with The Draft of Peace, Snape finds himself needing to explain things of deeper significance (concerning death) to Harry Potter, who (after all) has had more than his fair share of Death.


On Death and Magic's Due

The Draught of Peace had never caused him such consternation. It was usual, obligatory in fact, to mention its potential for abuse, both in regard to the possibility of addiction and in the unthinkable aspects of self-harm. But this was the most poisonous mix of student pedantry and pomposity that he had ever known.

His snakes had departed. The Vexation that was Longbottom, the Aggravation that was Weasley and the EXASPERATION that was Granger — with her hex-worthy notions of muggle broadmindedness that had caused such a stir amongst the Gryffindors _and_ his Slytherins (it had been _so_ very difficult to overlook their petty remonstrances and the minor curses that they had hurled at her with such adolescent vigor) — were all, mercifully, gone from his classroom.

Only Potter, deeply affected because of his peculiar (what else!) acquaintances with death, doom, disaster and destruction — and the Dursley's (damn them!) with their imprecations of Lily (and the sperm-donor) and their (her!) tragic demise — demanded Snape's _special_ attention. He hoped that his tired sigh was adequately transforming itself into disdain as he began.

"To say that the wizarding world is not perfect is such a comfortable cliché. It is only so much convenient, self-righteous indignation. That muggles (the few we _allow_ to maintain associations with us) presume to judge wizardkind — especially in matters of death and dying and lifesaving and immortal obligation! Hmph." After so many years, Harry was familiar with all the man's vocalizations — when it came to expressing disgust (or any castigatory emotion, for that matter) Snape was an artist _par excellence_. But he had never heard that particular "hmph" from him.

"Muggles," he continued, "unburdened with magic" (he said it with a well-honed snideness) "think themselves evolved and enlightened for their very modern views on the end and ending of life (even more so than with their other indispositions regarding the preternatural). They willfully forget, however, that it was only a handful of generations back that they themselves were completely committed to post-mortem decapitations, impalings, sequestrations and forbiddings — not to mention feasting on the remains of loved ones and enemies alike. Which is still done in many of the remoter places." He sighed. "Things were much more plainspoken before the Statute of Secrecy." Then, the obligatory stare — for attention and for silence. He continued.

"When a witch or wizard takes his or her own life, Magic is not pleased — and _will_ have its vengeance. There are many philosophical views as to why this is so, none of which I am inclined to discuss — with you." His face dared the slightest bit of interest in any conversation. "But it _is_ so." He was, at that moment, entirely the oh-so-patient tutor. "Magic transcends death. Not only in the sense that it endures beyond the limits of life, but more importantly, in that it surpasses death—"

"Then something is— out of balance, if there is no spell to bring back the dead! Professor Dumbledore said —"

Snape's glare, ignited by Potter's interruption, was sufficient to bring silence, but could not fuel the anger that would normally have accompanied _anyone's_ barging in on his concise discourses. But the question! The question was so quick, so earnest, so very insightful — there could have been no opportunity for premeditation — that (at least metaphorically) had taken his breath away.

He wanted to explode (it had been a day of _two_ Double Potions — curse Dumbledore and his twinkling peepers), but the atmosphere of indignation, inquiry and profound zeal to understand that had suddenly manifested in Potter (displacing the lesser airs) prohibited him. The shock, however, did not fade like an echo; it strengthened, like a wave — of magic. _The boy_ , he was stricken by the unbidden (and _very_ much unwelcome) realization, _was a kindred soul_. O horrible joy. He knew he must consider this in depth — but later. He composed himself in a sliver of a moment.

"The Headmaster was expurgating for your tender, young and imbecilic ears. There is no spell _of good intent_ to raise the dead. Those who are so _animated_ are damaged shadows of themselves, fractured and inferior to the least of ghosts; they must be _infused_ " he said it through a genuine nausea "by vile magics, necromancies, which irretrievably blacken the bloodline of the practitioner. There are no execrations that can adequately condemn such heinously monstrous actions. For all practical purposes, the Headmaster spoke to you truly. Do not interrupt again."

Harry was on guard, now. Good. "And since _bloodlines_ have a life that transcends death — remember, I had been speaking of the uncommon but nonetheless inevitable hardships of untimely death, murder and suicide, not the horrors of magicking the dead — measures MUST be taken to protect the living when the magic in the dying has been so grievously assaulted." He waited.

After a thoughtful pause, Harry began "Then all the— precautions that seem so— _severe_ are really necessary. They're more about the living that remain than the dead that have been lost. So things are _a_ _lot_ more complicated than they appear. Magic — magic itself — not just transfigurations — or potions — really and truly is _dangerous_. Even if it is brilliant." Harry smiled in spite of himself — and despite the identity of his audience of one.

But Snape was immensely pleased that the boy understood — it was something that often escaped the most knowledgable of wizards. "Oh yes. Like any of the forces of nature. We should respect magic for the power — for good, ill, life, death, creation _and_ destruction — that it is. Simplistic moralizing serves no good purpose. Run along to dinner." He watched the boy go. Then a sudden panic. Had he smiled, unknowingly betrayed — he gulped in reflex — a nascent fondness. He sincerely hoped not.

They both had a great deal to consider.


End file.
